


Gingerbread Cookies

by Elisif



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Christmas, Fluffiness, Gen, Sibling Cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 15:40:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2657411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisif/pseuds/Elisif
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aredhel and Fingon supervise Idril and Tyelpe’s Christmas Cookie baking playdate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gingerbread Cookies

“Auntie, I made a gingerbread horse, look!”  
Perched on tiptoes on her stool pushed up against the counter, Itarillë turned and dangled the lopsided, barely horse-shaped piece of gingerbread dough to her aunt.  
“I had dough prepared for Gingerbread and Vanilla Crescents for them. We left the cookie cutters behind in Aman, I’m afraid,” Curufin had told them, pausing to lift up and tickle his son as he directed them to the ready-prepared kitchen.  
Along with a good deal else, thought Irissë, but she kept her mouth shut. This was Itarillë’s treat, and by Arda, she would have it. And more guiltily, she thought, there were worse ways to spend an afternoon: in the Fëanorians warm, spice-scented kitchen, with her brother at her side, watching her niece getting herself positively covered in powdered sugar and flour, shrieking with laughter.  
“No Tyelpë, gingerbread cookies are supposed to be shaped like animals, see?”  
Itarillë, flour up to her elbows and dusting her ribbon-bowed loops of braids, paused with her hands fixed on either side of the unwieldy marble rolling pin. Beside her, his tongue slightly out and head bowed in intense concentration, Tyelpë was meticulously engraving a square slab of cookie dough with the blunt handle of a knife, etching a spectacularly intricate pattern of leaves, vines, birds, and shapes Irissë did not recognise into the pepper-flecked batter.  
“Well, what kind of animal is that supposed to be—“  
“It’s a seal, anyone can tell—“  
“Hey, hey, both of you stop.” Shooting a concerned glance at Fingon, Irissë bustled into the scene and laid one hand firmly down on the rolling-pin between them. “Now how about this: Itarillë, you cut the shapes out, like animals if you wish, and Tyelpë, you can decorate them? That way you can both do what you want the most—“  
Lips were wobbling; Irissë heard Findekáno clearing his throat and the children turned their heads.  
“But first,” he said, a smile breaking across his face as he knelt down to their level, “I insist that you both run outside and see what pictures you can find in the frost on all the windows, from the outside, yes? Then you can come back and tell us what things you found.”  
With a squeal, both children jumped down and scrambled for coats and boots. Irissë again knelt down to assure that Itarillë’s hood and mittens were properly fastened without cracks at her neck or wrists, but her niece squirmed free, slammed the door, and Irissë and Findekáno were left alone in the eerie stillness.  
Irissë’s expression was pained as she watched Itarillë happily pelting snowballs at her cousin through the window, her mittens already dangling from the strings at her wrists, and Findekáno made ready to comfort her, but when she turned to face him, his sister simply said:  
“Mother’s old trick, huh? I’d almost forgotten about that.”  
Findekáno came forward and stood behind her as they watched the children play.  
“So had I,” he said.  
Irissë turned and smiled, painting a smear of powdered sugar across her cheek as she brushed her hair from her face.  
“So, what do we do if they end up fighting over who saw Laurelin on the window first?”  
Irissë leant down. As she began to slowly roll and flatten the mound of dough with the etched marble rolling pin, back and forth, one of her braids fell free and dropped its tip into a mound of flour on the counter, black dipped in white like a tinted paintbrush. With sudden tenderness, Findekáno turned and lifted it back across her shoulder, held it in place against her back as she worked.  
Irissë mumbled a thank you and reached for Tyelpë’s discarded knife. She began to meticulously carve a deer out of a trimmed-off square of the dough. A gust of wind blew the scent of pine in through the kitchen, and she paused to breathe it in, her eyes closed in an expression of perfect peace..  
“The same thing mother did. Distract them with cookies of course,” said Findekáno and popped a wad of cookie dough into Irissë’s open mouth.  
“Finno!”  
“You’re telling me you’re too old and too serious to eat cookie dough now?”  
“Well, I was going to, but I take it back,” said Irissë, tugging off another wad of gingerbread dough and stuffing it into her mouth.  
“Oh Arda,” she said, clapping her hand to her mouth,” this is so good…”  
“Hey, leave some for me!” said Findekáno, reaching to tug off a slice of his own, but knocking over a cup of flour as he reached, sending a cloud of it bursting into Irissë’s face.  
“Oh Finno, for goodness’ sake—“  
Irissë reached to toss another pinch of flour in Findekáno’s face, flicked it from her cupped palm and brought her hand down hard on the counter. A gasp of horror left her mouth as she lifted her hand and found the squished remains of Itarillë’s seal cookie melded to her palm, shapeless and unrecognisable.  
“No, no…” Irissë’s panic was genuine as she struggled to salvage the cookie, scraping it from her palm with the knife handle and frantically trying to reshape it. “No, no…”  
Findekáno laid his hand on her shoulder.  
“Hey, calm down, Irissë, shh…”  
He reached over and pinched an edge of the ruined cookie with his fingertips.  
Silence.   
“Did Itarillë say anything about wanting to make gingerbread elephant seals? Because it kind of looks just like one now that you squished it.”  
The kitchen was eerily silent; and then Irissë burst out laughing, clapped her hand to her mouth.  
Findekáno smiled. From somewhere else in the house, a lively dance carol echoed in the warm, sugary stillness. Their eyes met, and Findekáno held out his hand.  
“Might I suggest that we dance instead of bake until the children come back?” he said.  
Irissë smiled, and held out her arm in return.  
Dusted with flour, her skirts swirling in and out in soft circles, she and Findekáno danced together around the gingerbread-scented kitchen to the long-forgotten carol, their arms interlinked, sometimes pausing to steal more discarded scraps of cookie dough, oblivious of who saw or heard them.


End file.
